


Out of Touch

by alynwa



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 18:30:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya spends his day off without his communicator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of Touch

Illya had been out all day.  He had gone for a run around Washington Square early Saturday morning and then decided to go to the Russian bathhouse in the East Village for a few hours to get a _Platzka_ (oak leaf) treatment, use the steam room and then the icy cold plunge pool.  He felt so refreshed afterwards that he decided to walk home.  On the way, he came across a jazz band playing at a street fair that was rather good.  There were several food vendors working the fair and when the Russian saw a truck selling blinis, he quickly went over to buy two.  Munching happily, he slurped the cup of tea he had also purchased as he found a low wall on which to sit and listen to the group.  They had just started playing as he had entered the block so he listened to their entire forty – five minute set.  Another band hit the stage and when they began to play a decent rendition of Dave Brubeck’s “Take Five,” he bought some pierogies and more tea and settled back down.

When that band finished almost an hour later, he continued his stroll home.  On impulse, he stopped in O’Leary’s Used Bookstore and leisurely perused the new arrivals before finally choosing **Mother** by Maxim Gorky in the original Cyrillic and a novel about the French Revolution.  Exiting O’Leary’s, he made one final stop at the corner deli and bought a sandwich and some beer.

He was in a good mood as he bounded up the stairs to his apartment.  He slowed his pace as he noticed the mat in front of his door was slightly askew.  _It was not like that when I left._   Knowing it was completely possible that one of his neighbors had kicked it walking by, he nevertheless carefully set his purchases down and pulled his off – duty weapon from his ankle holster.  Moving closer, he slowly inspected his door _.  It does not look tampered with,_ he thought before sliding his key into the lock. 

He stepped through quickly with the intent of securing the place before resetting the alarms.  He tensed when he saw a man sitting on his couch, but relaxed when he recognized Napoleon.  He saw the look on his face and after taking care of the alarm system, walked closer.  “Napoleon, what is wrong?”

The CEA came forward and placed his hands on his knees.  “It’s four in the afternoon.  Where the _hell_ have you been?” he demanded.

Illya was so stunned by the vehemence in Napoleon’s voice, he actually took a step back.  “I, I went out for a run.  Did I forget an appointment?  I had nothing on my calendar.”

“I’ve been trying to reach you all day!  Why weren’t you answering your communicator?”

“I did not have it with me.  I did not realize until I was in the park for my run.  I was not concerned because I planned to come home immediately after, but then I decided since we were not on call, to go to the Russian bath house.   And then, well, I walked around, listened to a live band for a while…Agent So…Napoleon, am I supposed to report my whereabouts to HQ?  I am sorry.  I was not aware of that rule.” 

Napoleon chuffed loudly and sat back against the couch.  “Illya, have you noticed that whenever you want to speak with me when we’re not on a mission, you can reach me whether it be by telephone or communicator?”

“ _Da_.”

“Do you think everyone in UNCLE has that kind of access to me?”

The blond’s eyebrows furrowed together.  “I, I had not thought about it.”

“Well, they _don’t._ You and the Old Man are the only two people with complete round the clock access to me.  Period.”

“Mr. Waverly I understand, but why me?”

Napoleon smiled at his partner the way one might smile at a slightly slow, but much loved child.  “Because,” he explained slowly, “you are my _partner._ I know we’ve only been partnered for eight months, but by now, you should know that you can depend on me and that if you need me, I’ll be there to have your back.  Not because I’m CEA, but because we’re partners and, I hope, friends.”

Illya absorbed what he had been told.  “So, when you tried to reach me and could not…”

“I became concerned.  Not at first, but as time went on and you didn’t respond to my phone calls or communicator chirps, I decided to stop by.  I used my key when you didn’t answer the door.  When I saw your Walther in its lockbox, that’s when I started to worry.  I was just about to put out a BOLO on you when I heard your key.”

The Russian held up the Baretta he was still holding.  “My personal gun.  Just so I am clear, you were angry with me because you could not contact me not as my superior, but as my friend?”

“Yes and just so we both are clear, as your partner I expect to know how to contact you at all times; as your friend, I expect you to _want_ me to know where you are.  Otherwise, as your CEA, I may order you to tell me,” he said with a wide grin.  Seeing the look on the Russian’s face he added quickly, “I’m kidding about the order, Illya!”  He stood up and stretched.  “Well, now that I know you’re not hanging by your thumbs in some THRUSH satrap, I’m heading home to get ready for my date.  I’ll talk to you later.”

As Illya let him out the door he said, “From now on, Napoleon, I will keep my communicator with me.”

Napoleon waved as he started down the stairs.  “See that you do!” he called over his shoulder.

 


End file.
